Guitar+Player

The man Holds the guitar on his knee Caressing it, holding it close Like a newborn baby

The guitar It smells of resin and mahogany

From years of use Strums, plucks, pounds the strings His head bent Chocolate hair falling in his face The guitar Is sadness and desire Mixed with maple syrup Sweet, slow, and slightly confused The man Plays and forgets his troubles If only for the fleeting moment When his callused fingers touch the strings of   The guitar By Rebekah Wolanski